Agnes McCreedy
by Killjoyncis
Summary: An outsider's perspective of a young Anthony Dinozzo.


Agnes McCreedy was not a popular teacher with her students. This was not alarming or even very important to her. Her job was to take sniveling, hormone-infested sixth graders and turn them into educated and well-spoken youths who were beginning to prepare for the Ivy League education that awaited the vast majority of them. She was certainly not a "touchy feely, let's talk about your feelings" kind of language arts educator, and privately disdained those teachers who were as "hippies". She knew her job and what her responsibilities were and had no issues with achieving those goals.

All that being said, just because she didn't buy into the New Age mumbo jumbo that some of her colleagues did, didn't mean that she was a heartless beast. And even before he shared anything with her, Anthony Dinozzo Jr had earned Agnes' ire, sympathy, and compassion in almost equal parts. He was a jokester and popular with his classmates because of his quick wit and athletic ability, which were remarkable. As a student, he was creative and bright, but did not apply himself as well as he could. The Dalton School was one of the most successful K-12 educational facilities in the country, and each student was encouraged to pursue their interests, although certain learning was non-negotiable. While Anthony did not always enjoy the lessons that Agnes taught, he had a way of being…_endearing…_about the whole thing. Agnes knew that his mother had passed away, and she had heard that he had also been in the accident that had killed his mother, but he never talked about the event. Even in his journals (the one "caring/sharing" assignment that Agnes gave), he didn't appear to struggle with any emotions about the event. In fact, Anthony's journals were quite enjoyable to read, as he was as entertaining on paper as he was in spoken conversation, if one overlooked the slang and grammatical atrocities that he sometimes committed.

But it seemed that Agnes knew less about Anthony Dinozzo than she realized. It was a reminder to a woman who liked control—that she didn't have all the answers.

One Monday, immediately after Spring Break, he stopped down during the after school program to talk to her. Agnes was surprised… although she and Anthony got along well enough, he generally jumped into the chauffeured Cadillac that waited for him after school as soon as he possibly could.

"Mr. Dinozzo." She failed to keep the astonishment from her tone.

"Hey, Ms. McCreedy." He smiled hugely, but it was not difficult to see that there was no humor in his eyes.

"May I help you with something?" After a moment of awkward silence, Agnes realized that he needed a bit of prodding to discuss his reasons for being in her room.

"Our journals…how closely do you read them?" The question was abrupt and seemed forced out.

"I read them all, of course." She didn't like what she read, most of the time, although she wouldn't admit how annoying some of the tripe was. Really, knowing that Jesse had a crush on Joey and that Alexandra had just returned from the most fabulous French villa just made Agnes annoyed at the vapidity of sixth graders. "I don't grade them for grammar and mechanics. It's an exercise to acclimate students with frequent writing."

"Of course. I remember you telling us that when you introduced them. What I mean is, what if a student writes something in his journal that could potentially get him or another person in trouble?"

Finally, Agnes thought she knew where this was going. "The Dalton School has certain rules in place, although what a child writes in a journal may not have to be reported, if the rule breaking is relatively harmless—"

"I'm not talking about rule-breaking, Ms. McCreedy. I am talking about things that may happen in a home that results in harm to a student." The lack of emotion in Anthony's tone was alarming, but no less worrisome than what Agnes was hearing.

"Do you mean a child who is getting physically punished at his home? Some leniency is acceptable, although there are new laws in New York regarding—"

"Mandated reporters. Yes. Educators like you are mandated reporters, is that right?"

"Yes, according to the Child Abuse Prevention and Treatment Act, we are compelled to report all suspected abuse to the administration and to the police." Agnes nodded carefully, wondering where this was going.

"And does this result in the child being removed from the home? Have you ever had to report an abuse case, Ms. McCreedy?" He was so solemn and serious. Agnes had never seen him so composed, and it was certainly raising concern.

"No. Here at Dalton, we have never had to report an abuse case." She was wondering if that was going to change today.

"But would you report it if you found out about such a case?" He tilted his head to the side, and she knew that a lot rested on her response.

"Mr. Dinozzo, I know that I do not have the most congenial nature, but I can assure you that one of the many reasons why I became a teacher was because I genuinely care about the wellbeing and future of the children in America. If I knew that one of my students was being abused in any way, I would report it to Dr. Haynes." She leaned forward and met his suddenly intense green eyes.

"OK." He smiled brightly, a farce of his usual expression.

"Anthony, do you have something that you want to share with me?" Agnes' tone was far more gentle than usual, but she wasn't completely without empathy.

"Nope. You did say that we could write creatively in our journals, right?"

"Of course. What you write is entirely up to you."

She should have known that when he finally opened up to her, it would be in the form of a "short story", and knew that he would deny that he was the main character in the story. It made her angry and sad to know that she wouldn't be able to help him; that he seemed to understand the reality of his situation and accept that there was no help for him. Not to mention that it was a damned good little narrative.

_Once upon a time, in a land very far from here, there lived a young lady. This young lady was the princess of her kingdom and was known as a gentle and kind woman. She was also very choosy about who would have the honor of marrying her. Her father, the king, introduced several young men who were suitable for the job, only to be refused each time. _

_Finally, the princess met the son of a carriage designer, a prince in his own right, with wealth and prestige and a devilishly sweet smile. She fell in love with him, and both families approved of the match, so they were promptly married. Following the wedding, the princess left her beloved kingdom to help the prince rule his own lands. She loved the prince, but she never forgot where she came from, and she was very homesick and sad for a long time. Luckily, there were tonics and potions to help her forget her sadness, although it always came back._

_After a few years of marriage, the princess realized that she was going to have a baby. At first she was happy about having a child, but then she realized that she had grown so dependent on the tonics and potions that she didn't have much control over her life anymore. Not to mention the fact that her prince's eyes seemed to stray from her more and more often as the pregnancy continued. _

_When the child was born, there was at first much rejoicing and delighting over the presence of the baby, who was named after his father, the prince. Soon, however, the happiness faded, as it always seemed to do with the princess, and she continued to indulge in more and more harmful tonics. The prince was aware of this, and missed the cheerful and sunny woman that he had married. He decided that the blame for all of their problems was the child that his beloved wife had borne, and began to look for ways to punish the child for ruining his marriage. Even that became too much of a burden though, and he usually tried to pretend as though the child was not there. _

_Years went by, as they tend to do, and one day, the princess bravely stood up to the prince about the way he treated their child. Unfortunately, a fight broke out and she and her son left. There was a horrible accident, and the princess was killed. The child was injured, but it was not enough to remove the guilt and anger that the prince felt for his wife's death. The relationship continued to get worse, until one day, as a last effort at bonding, the prince took his son on a mission in a far off kingdom. Unfortunately, he forgot his son on the return journey._

_The prince's son had to complete a heroic quest in order to make it home, and the battles were dark, evil, and much more painful than a child should have to endure. Despite all of the pain, the boy made it home, only to discover that the prince, who was now as enamored with tonics and potions as his dead princess, did not even realize that he had left his son behind. Their relationship, from the demons and tonics and deaths between them, would never recover, and instead, it grew more and more violent._

_The hero of this story is not the princess, and it isn't the prince. The real hero is the child. The day that he returned to his father's kingdom from his Herculean journey to get there, he made a vow that not only would he not become a carriage designer, but that he would, instead, do all that he could to help administer justice in the kingdom. He would help citizens who needed it and who could not help themselves. So although the prince and princess did not have a happily ever after ending, their child would, because he had learned one of life's most important lessons: Everyone, be they great and powerful or small and penniless, deserves to have someone speak for them when they need it the most._

She knew when she finished reading the story that it was far from fictional, despite the traditional fairy tale tone. She knew that Anthony had given her, and only her, a look into what had to be a horrific home life. She also knew that if she reported this as an abuse case to her administrator, Dr. Haynes would be unable to take any sort of action. Anthony Dinozzo Sr. was a large contributor to the school. And his son would tell them that his journal entry was narrative fiction. Sometimes, as she well knew, people told you their secrets not so that they could get help, but rather so they could get acknowledgement that what had happened to them was wrong and evil and not their fault. So Agnes wrote a response in this particular journal:

Anthony:

This is a very well-written and creative story. The format is done effectively, and it reads

like a traditional fairytale. I know that if I knew the young boy of the story, I would tell him that his suffering and sacrifice would make him into an adult who would help many

people. I would hug him and tell him that I was sorry for his pain and that he wasn't to

blame for the princess's death or the prince's anger and violence. Children should never

be seen as anything other than a blessing, for that is what they are. I hope the boy in

your story grows up and has a life with people who appreciate him for who he is…a hero. And, if that hero ever needs anything, he has a teacher who admires him and wishes only the best for him.

Agnes McCreedy retired fifteen years after she had Anthony Dinozzo as a sixth-grade student at the Dalton School. She never forgot him, and oftentimes wondered about him. He had completed sixth, seventh, and eighth grade year at Dalton, and she worried the entire time. Once he began participating in school athletics, he became even more popular, simply because he was a phenomenal athlete. She also couldn't help but fret when he got injured…wondering if the bruises and broken bones had really come from the football games or from his father. Once, she'd even approached Dr. Haynes and laid out her concerns. Unfortunately, there wasn't much she could do because there was no proof. She'd expected Anthony to attend Dalton through high school, but his father abruptly pulled him and the rumor was that he went to a military school. She never saw him again.

"C'mon, Agnes. It's your retirement party! That's a pretty pensive face for a celebration." John Allen, the seventh grade language art teacher, flopped next to her at the table. "Dalton is springing for a pretty nice meal here, and there are loads of people here ready to talk about how awesome you are."

"I have always been ecstatic at the thought of compliments." Her tone was desert dry. It was a well-known fact that Agnes McCreedy had no patience for empty praise. "It's a secret vice of mine."

"Then things have changed since I attended Dalton."

She turned to face the newcomer. He was a tall and lean man, built like a swimmer or a wide receiver, with a great smile, an expensive cashmere sweater, and sparkling green eyes. Agnes knew him instantly. "Anthony Dinozzo!"

"Wasn't sure you would know me." He ducked his head, his cheeks pink. "It has been awhile. And I go by Tony now."

"You made an impression," she said simply. "I thought of you many, many times over the years. How have you been, Tony? How is the heroic quest treating you?"

"I actually wanted to apologize to you for that story." At her puzzled look, he continued. "I basically told you that things were terrible at home, and then chickened out and wrote you a story. I put you in a rotten spot…I shouldn't have done that to you."

"You were a child. Put into what I can imagine was a wretched situation through no fault of your own. I was honored that you chose me to share the story with. I like to think it helped a bit, putting that broken fairy tale on paper." She took his hand in hers as he sat down next to her.

"It did help. I've always been a big movie fan…it was an escape for me. Writing that story put me in the mindset of dealing with the things that were happening as if I was truly on a heroic quest. I got a little obsessed with epics, quite honestly. Read a lot of Tolkien, some Beowulf. What I learned was that even when heroes win, they lose a lot on the way." He shrugged, his eyes on their hands. "Guess I'm still working on that part. But I needed to come and thank you for all that you did for me."

She was touched, but had made a career out of brutal honesty. "Tony. I did precious little for you."

"You saw me. Really saw me, not just the façade. You treated me fairly, not with any special treatment for any reason. You showed me what being a public servant was all about. The kids might be rich, but they are still kids with the same concerns and issues. Everything in my life up until I met you had been influenced by money or greed or violence or alcohol. I learned through you that I didn't have to be that way." His tone was so earnest that it brought tears to her eyes.

"And do you serve the public now?"

"Homicide detective in Baltimore. I see the pretty awful side of what people do to each other, but I like to think I make a difference." He grinned. "Before Baltimore, I was in Philly and before that, Peoria. Guess I have trouble settling down."

"Not all those that wander are lost." She smiled wryly.

"Sure, it worked when Tolkien was talking about Aragorn. Somehow I don't see myself as him." He shook his head in dismissal.

"You're right. I think in my mind, you are more of a Faramir type." She nodded.

"'We boast seldom, and then perform, or die in the attempt.' I always did like Faramir. Seemed like he was a thoughtful and wise man. I have to confess that I boast a bit." He spoke with the air of one making a confession, but there was laughter in his eyes.

"I would guess that you boast about the unimportant things in life. But when you are called to be truly heroic in your job, I will bet that you don't mention those things at all." He flushed again, and she knew she had been right. "I am glad you came to see me today, Tony Dinozzo. You have grown up into a fine man."

"You think so?" There was that odd vulnerability that she saw when he was her student. Did no one offer any validation to him? Agnes felt a wave of compassion, and remembered why she became a teacher to begin with.

"Of course. I have faith in heroes, both sung and unsung. And you are a hero."

He smiled again—a real one this time. "And you are my hero, Agnes McCreedy. "

On occasion, she allowed, compliments were…nice.

She found herself back there. Time seemed to have no importance to her anymore. She knew that she was dead, of course, and most of her existence now was wondrous and beautiful. But every so often, she who used to be Agnes McCreedy was transported to the cemetery. To the little spot under the oak tree near the wrought iron bench. It was always when he came to visit her: first, shortly after she died, and he had tears to shed then. The other times blended together in her head. Sometimes in rain, others in snow and still others on beautiful days with cloudless skies.

Today was a nondescript fall afternoon. There was a chill in the air; a promise of impending snow. He looked a little sad and very tired. It was only an instant ago that she was teaching him and now suddenly he was grown and looking as though he'd lost his best friend. He was still a handsome man, of course, but the lines around his eyes denoted stress, not age. He was a police officer of some kind—her memory was not as it was and specifics eluded her. If she strained and forced the connection, she could hear him speaking.

"…Agnes, I don't know what I'm doing here…if I was smarter I would have taken the Rota offer from Jen. I know that she had no expectation that I would take it, and that it wouldn't start until after this undercover gig, but maybe it would be best to leave. Gibbs…he just isn't the same since he came back. My partners see me as a joke, and maybe I'm to blame for that in part. It's just…they have to know that I do it to help them and to ease the tension. Maybe they don't. I don't know…even Abby and Ducky reminded me daily that I wasn't good enough. And this new thing, I really like the girl, which would normally be a good thing, but when I tell her that I have been lying to her about…everything… pretty sure she will want to kill me. How the hell do I get myself into these things?"

He sighed. "Agnes, I don't know. Maybe I should have listened to my father when he told me I would end up in the gutter. I could never please him and clearly I can't please anyone at work either. So who is the broken one? The one at fault? It MUST be me."

Agnes could feel tears in her eyes (a tricky task when one considered that she was, well, dead). "Oh Anthony," she whispered. "It isn't your fault that the people who should support you let you down. The fault is theirs, not yours."

But of course, he couldn't hear her. He sat for a while in silence, his mood clearly pensive and contemplative. Finally, the sun began to set and the wind clearly picked up a bit, as Tony shivered and pulled his scarf around his neck. Slowly, he got to his feet. A wry smile twisted his mouth as he brushed off her headstone and placed flowers at its base (bluebells…very rare. She remembered vaguely that she had admired an Anne Bronte poem with the same name and had read it to her classes every year at the start of term). "I miss you, Ms. McCreedy. Hope you're giving the angels all sorts of grammatical lessons."

Before she could do more than smile at the whimsical idea and catch the scent of the flowers, he was gone and she was gone too, her memory drifting away in sunlight, music, and joy…


End file.
